The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(67)

The beaded front hanging rattled to announce that someone had entered his quarters. The Superior tensed, then forced himself to relax. Only a Council messenger or a Sharer responding to an emergency could violate the Superior’s privacy when he requested it. And Gatherers, of course. They went wherever they pleased. He opened his eyes.

They stood on the other side of his desk, solemn, still dressed in their sleeveless formal robes after the morning’s Tithing Ceremony. Not a Gathering, then. The Superior wasn’t certain whether to feel relief or annoyance.

“We would speak with you, Brother Superior.” Sonta-i, sounding as though he’d come to discuss the weather. And perhaps this meant no more than that to him, with his peculiar sense of right and wrong. Doubtless it was Rabbaneh who needed the explanations and details; for Sonta-i it was a simple matter. If the Superior was corrupt, then the Superior would die.

“Yes,” the Superior said. “I’ve been waiting.”

“We come to speak only,” Rabbaneh said. He sat in the chair on the other side of the Superior’s desk. Sonta-i remained standing.

“An Assay of Truth, then. I should thank you for your consideration.” The Superior sighed. “Though a part of me would prefer you get this over with.”

“Explain,” Sonta-i said. “Perhaps we shall oblige you.”

The Superior rose, going to a nearby cupboard. He opened it and took out a red bottle, wrought of glass by one of the greatest craftsmen in the city. Gatherers shunned drink for their own pleasure, but sometimes they would partake on a tithebearer’s behalf. “Drink with me, Brothers. I’m not quite an elder yet. I’m not ready to spend my last hours alone.”

“Is this a confession?” Rabbaneh watched his face intently as the Superior took three red glasses from the cupboard and set them down on his desk. “Are you asking for Hananja’s blessing?”

The Superior paused for a moment, considering, then sighed and began to pour. “Yes to the first question, no to the second. I would like very much to live. But I know the law of this land as well as you and by that law, Her Law, I am corrupt. Whatever you may think of me, I have never wanted to be a hypocrite.” He paused, taking his glass and nodding for them to take the others. Rabbaneh hesitated but then took one. Sonta-i did not.

Instead Sonta-i said, “Whether you wanted it or not, you have become one. Only a hypocrite would decry our brother as a rogue, then allow the Prince to take him away. If you believed him dangerous, he should never have left this Hetawa and the care of his brethren. But Rabbaneh says you acted on the Prince’s orders.” For just an instant something flashed across Sonta-i’s weathered face: curiosity. “How is it that the Superior of the Hetawa, Hananja’s foremost Servant, follows any orders save Hers?”

The Superior lifted his glass and took a sip, savoring the sweet, clear taste. A Giyaroo liqueur; one of the few northland delicacies he had ever liked. “You must understand I did not know everything at first. The Prince is a master at concealing his plans. For three years even I was fooled. Now I know the truth: the Prince is quite mad.”

Rabbaneh’s face was implacable. Good-humored Rabbaneh, who had been hot-tempered Rabbaneh in the years before he’d become a Gatherer. Fascinating to see that something of their old selves could surface at times like this. “Then he should be given dreamblood and healed.”

The Superior fought the urge to laugh. He covered it by taking a long swallow from the glass instead. “He was given dreamblood. That was how this nightmare began.” Ah, but it had begun long before that, in the birth throes of Gujaareh and even before that in Kisua. He should confess it all to them, tell the whole truth so that they could experience the same shock and horror and disillusionment that had afflicted him since he’d found out—

No. The words of his predecessor drifted back to him, full of loathsome wisdom: A Servant of Hananja exists to ease Gujaareh’s pain. The role of the Superior is to ease the pain of his fellow Servants. There are secrets that would destroy your brethren; it is your duty to bear them alone.

Bear them and be crushed beneath them, it seemed.

“The Prince killed his father to gain the throne,” the Superior said, gazing into the red glass. “Such things happen. But when Eninket—our Prince, pardon—took the Aureole, he immediately began to show signs of a dangerous instability. Among other curious acts, he sent a force to Kite-iyan and had slaughtered every one of his father’s wives and other children, down to the newborns. Including his own mother. Only Ehiru survived, because the Hetawa had laid claim to him by that point.” He paused, thoughtful. “Some say Ehiru’s mother had the gift of true-seeing and knew the slaughter would come. We shall never know for certain, as Ehiru does not speak of his past.”

“Perhaps because it has nothing to do with the current situation,” Sonta-i said.

The Superior smiled. He envied Gatherers their ability to see the world in simple terms: peace and corruption, good and evil. A Superior had no such luxury.

“It has everything to do with the situation, Brother Sonta-i, but I appreciate your impatience.” He took another sip of the liqueur. “The Hetawa’s duty seemed clear. We offered the Prince dreamblood—as a privilege of power, you see. The upper castes of the city whisper that it far surpasses timbalin or any other pleasure drug. The fact that it heals the mind is something they neither understand nor care about, but it suits our purposes. So a Sharer was dispatched to provide the dreamblood and perform the healing. But the Sharer found there was no madness to heal—not in the physical sense, at least. His humors were in balance; his head had suffered no injury. The Prince’s… excesses… were committed in perfect sanity.”